Months after Nani Mummy had passed away, neither my mother nor her brother (my maternal uncle, Khawar Mamo) could face packing up her belongings. And even though I didn’t live with my parents anymore, I couldn’t find it in my heart to visit, knowing that Nani Mummy wouldn’t be there.
My parents had built their own house next door to Nani Mummy’s, on the plot my mother had inherited from her father. Designed by Khawar Mamo, who was an architect, it was a beautiful house, with tall corner windows and dark rosewood floors; Khawar Mamo and his family lived in a separate part of Nani Mummy’s house. After she died, my father and uncle decided to sell both houses at the same time – partly because the neighbourhood was becoming more commercialised, and partly because the place was full of poignant memories.
